


Helping Hands

by infinitelyfragile



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-17 16:40:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16520135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infinitelyfragile/pseuds/infinitelyfragile
Summary: Jughead comes down with the stomach flu at school. Veronica uses her powers for good, Fred has two teenagers to look after, Archie is a good friend, and Betty has a big heart. Even though he has no family to go home to, everyone around him tells Jug they care.





	1. Veronica

It came on all of a sudden. One minute, Jughead was sitting in class, neglecting his education in American history in favour of mulling over the much more recent story of Jason Blossom.

The next minute, the class bell rang and Jughead was distractedly shoving his belongings into his backpack and rising to leave, only to discover his legs were curiously unsteady. Three steps out the classroom door a cold sweat broke out all over his body. Two steps after that and the bottom dropped out of his stomach, leaving a sensation in its place that felt like falling forever.

Jughead swallowed hard and pressed his lips shut. There was a word for this feeling. That word was nausea. As in, he was going to puke. 

Right now. 

Jughead bee-lined for the nearest bathroom, clutching his bag to his stomach with one hand and shoving the bathroom door open with the other. His stomach flipped and heaved without his consent. He barely made it to the first stall, dropping his bag to the floor and his hands to the top of the toilet, before he heaved again, still on his feet as his breakfast came up violently.

It was weird to have so little control over his body, almost like he was watching it all happen to someone else. There was a roaring sound in his ears and a pain in his stomach that hadn’t been there ten minutes ago. Three or four heaves in, he had to drop to his knees because he was too dizzy to stand, little black spots glittering across his vision. Two more after that, the wave of vomiting subsided, and Jughead was left gasping, trying to catch his breath.

Jughead spat to clear his mouth and reached up to flush the mess away, but didn’t move his head from its new position over the toilet bowl. There was a bubbling feeling still in his throat that made him less than sure he was finished throwing up.

“Well, that was disgusting,” a helpful voice said behind him. 

Jughead sniffed, and spat again. His eyes must have been watering, because his nose was runny. “Gee, thanks, Veronica.”

The stall door, which he’d never managed to lock, opened behind him. A manicured hand appeared over Jughead’s shoulder, holding out a damp paper towel. 

“Take this,” Veronica said, “And you’re welcome.”

Jughead accepted the gift. He sniffed again, swallowing tentatively. His stomach was definitely not happy, but at least it didn’t suddenly revolt against him again. He used the paper towel to wipe his mouth, and then the toilet seat. From the speaker overhead, the class bell rang a second time, signalling the start of the next period.

“Thanks,” he said, losing the sarcasm. “You should get to class.”

“After that performance? I don’t think so. I’m taking you to the nurse’s office first.”

Jughead started to shake his head and had to stop, immediately regretting the idea as a throbbing pain started up in his temples. “I don’t need the nurse. I’m okay,” he said instead.

“You’re either possessed by a demon or you have the flu. Either way, you’re white as a ghost and covered in sweat. You’re definitely not okay. C’mon. Can you stand up?”

Jughead managed to shift his weight back on his heels and stood, slowly, one hand against the wall of the stall for support. Veronica spotted him as he made it to the sinks on shaky legs, tossed his soiled paper towel in the trash, and washed his hands. His face appeared waxy and drawn in the mirror, uncomfortable to look at, but he met Veronica’s concerned gaze in the reflection over his shoulder. 

“You can go,” he insisted. “I’ve got this.”

“Jug, if I walk into class right now, Betty’s going to ask me why I’m late. If Betty asks me why I’m late, I’m going to tell her that her boyfriend is puking his guts out in the girls’ bathroom. So you can deal with me, or you can deal with Betty, but you’re not going to get out of this by pretending to be fine.”

“Veronica,” Jughead turned, leaning back against the bathroom counter. “Betty’s got enough going on right now.”

“Don’t we all.”

“Veronica, please. She has her family to take care of. She doesn’t need to take care of me too.”

“Then you’re stuck with me, and I say we go to the nurse.”

“Veronica, no. Would you stop? If I go to the nurse, they’ll just call my parents.”

“Which they absolutely should do, Jug. You’re sick. You should go home.”

“Well, right now ‘home’ is Archie’s house, and I’d rather not have the school asking questions about it.”

Veronica’s gaze could be disconcertingly piercing sometimes, which Jughead had noticed before. Right now, it was also uncomfortably compassionate, which was a new experience. Jughead found it unnatural.

“Okay. Do you want to tell me why you’re living at Archie’s house?” 

“No, I really don’t.”

“Well, do you want a lift?” she asked.

Jughead stopped himself from saying no on instinct alone. He felt like hell. He couldn’t remember ever becoming ill so suddenly before in his life, it was almost frightening. It seemed like the worst had passed, for now, but not having to walk back to Archie’s place would be a relief. 

“Yeah,” he said, finally, “That’d be good. Thanks.”

Veronica smiled.

“Just one minute. I’ll make a call.”


	2. Fred

When Fred got home, the house was quiet, as he’d expected. Archie had football practice tonight, and Jughead would probably be staying late at school for the Blue & Gold with Betty. Again.

It had gotten surprisingly natural to think about checking in with two teenagers every day, instead of just the one. As disappointed as Fred might be in FP, he and Gladys had managed to raise a polite and thoughtful kid, cynicism notwithstanding. Now if only Jughead hadn’t also inherited FP’s knack for getting into trouble.

The sounds of a flushing toilet and shuffling feet upstairs was unexpected.

“Archie?” Fred called up the stairs. “Jughead?”

He waited a beat, but there was no answer. Typical. Allowing himself a long-suffering sigh, Fred headed up to see who was home. There was no one in the hallway, or the bathroom. Fred knocked on Archie’s door. “Arch?” he called again, “Jughead?”

“Hey, Mr. Andrews,” Jughead answered, sounding uncharacteristically subdued.

Fred opened the door. Jughead was curled up on his air mattress, wrapped up in a hoodie and hugging a pillow. The room smelled unpleasantly like sweat.

“Hey, Jug. It’s a little early for bed, don’t you think?”

A shrug was Jughead’s very articulate response.

Fred sat down on the edge of Archie’s bed, and leaned over to press the back of his hand against Jughead’s too-warm forehead. Jughead pulled away sluggishly, and sat up, carefully keeping the pillow pressed against his midsection.

“Mm-hmm,” Fred said, suspicions confirmed. “How long have you been here?”

“I don’t know. I came back early.”

“Not feeling too good?”

Jughead shook his head slowly.

“You been throwing up?”

"Yeah."

“Okay. How long for?”

“Uh, since this morning. At school.”

“Stomachache, too, from the looks of it. How about diarrhea?”

Jughead shrugged.

“I’m going to take that as a yes. Anything else?”

Jughead shrugged again.

“Come on, kiddo, you’ve got to work with me here.”

“I’m okay,” said Jughead, unconvincingly. His was voice was rough and he was speaking slowly, like he was experiencing the whole conversation under water and far away. “My head hurts,” he admitted, “And I’m freezing, but I just need to sleep it off.”

“Sure thing. I want to get a read on your temperature before you go back to sleep, though. If I bring you some pills to help that headache, do you think you could keep them down?”

Jughead shrugged at first, but on apparent consideration of the question, he quietly answered, "No."

“Okay, kiddo. Hang tight.” Fred left, returning in a minute with a thermometer, a water bottle, an empty mop bucket, and a heating pad. Jughead's eyes had drifted shut, but he hadn’t moved.

“Temperature first,” said Fred, sitting down beside Jughead this time, air mattress dipping under his weight. “Under your tongue until it beeps.”

Jughead put the thermometer under his tongue, although he allowed a skeptical expression onto his face that made Fred smile.

When the timer on the thermometer went off, Jughead took it out of his mouth and inspected it blearily. “One-oh-one,” Fred read out over his shoulder. “Not too bad, but you’ve definitely got a fever.”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, well I’ve got some water here for you to sip on, and a hot pad for your stomach if you want it. Bucket, just in case. You should try and drink some of the water, if you can. A little at a time, okay?”

“Okay.”

“You know, Jug, normally if Archie got sent home sick from school, I’d expect to get a call from the nurse or the principal’s office.”

Jughead shrugged.

“You want to tell me why I didn’t get that call?”

“I didn’t sign out.”

Fred sighed. “Okay, I’ll explain it to the school in the morning when I call you out sick. I don’t want you getting charged with truancy now too, huh?”

Jughead nodded, slowly. “Sorry, Mr. Andrews,” he said. There was an off-note in his voice. Fred wasn’t sure what it was exactly, but it sounded strained, like Jughead might be upset. He gave Jughead a long look up and down, but other than being rumpled, tired, and pale, Jughead was as inscrutable as ever.

It was Fred’s turn to shrug. It didn’t matter why Jughead was upset in particular, just that he was one of Fred’s teenagers now. If was feeling crummy, it was Fred’s job to help him out. He put his arm around Jughead’s shoulders and gave a little squeeze.

“Don’t worry about it, Jug. Let’s just get you feeling better. Why don’t you have a nap and we’ll see how you’re doing when you wake up? I think I’ve got some gingerale and some chicken soup in the pantry. Is there anything special you like to have around when you’re feeling sick?”

Jughead shrugged, but at least the standoffish teen wasn’t avoiding Fred’s hug, so Fred held the pose for a minute longer, before releasing Jughead with a gentle back rub.

“Okay, kiddo. Get some sleep. I’ll be just downstairs if you need anything.”

Jughead nodded. “Thanks, Mr. Andrews.”


	3. Archie

Archie arrived home following football practice feeling unsettled.

“Hey, Arch,” said his dad as he walked in the door, “How was practice?”

“It was alright. A bunch of the guys are out sick this week so we ended early. Have you seen Jughead yet?”

“He’s upstairs taking a nap. Looks like he’s come down with a bit of a stomach bug himself.” 

Archie nodded, relieved that at least his friend had been found. Betty had been texting him since school let out, trying to find Jughead, but he hadn’t seen Jug since the morning, either. He’d have to let her know what had happened.

“We should make up the couch for you downstairs for tonight, lower the chances of you catching what Jug has,” his dad said.

“I don’t know, Dad. If it’s the same thing going around the team, I’m probably next in line anyway. I’d rather just keep Jug company. He doesn’t like being sick.”

“You might regret that decision in a day or two.” 

“Dad, come on. If I were sick and living at Jughead’s place, you know he’d stay with me.”

“Well, I guess I can’t talk you out of it.”

“What are we talking him out of this time?” Jughead asked, leaning in the kitchen doorframe with his arms in the kangaroo pocket of his hooded sweatshirt. His voice was raspy, dark hair sweaty and mussed under his off-kilter beanie, complexion washed out.

“Woah, man. You look like hell. What are you doing up?”

Jughead must have noticed Archie dodge his question, but he just shrugged, neglecting his habitually relentless pursuit of answers. “I already slept all day,” he answered.

“You should have told me you were coming home from school.”

“So everyone keeps saying. Apparently I can’t even go home sick right.” Jughead was irritable, his tone sour and self-deprecating. Archie wondered if someone had said something unkind to him or if his friend was just upset with himself for getting sick in the first place.

“Nah, Juggy. That’s not what I mean. We just didn’t know where you went and I was getting worried.”

“Yeah,” said Jughead, “Sorry.”

“It’s cool, man. Are you feeling any better now?”

“Oh yeah, I’m peachy.”

Archie couldn’t help but smile. Sick or not, Jughead was the king of sarcasm, complete with crown. 

“Dude, you look like a skunked cat.”

“That about sums up how I feel.”

“That sucks, Jug, I’m sorry. Is there anything we can do to help?”

“There’s chicken and rice soup we can heat up,” his dad added, but Jughead shook his head with conviction. The mere suggestion seemed to make him even paler than before.

“Is there ice?” he asked, instead.

“Just ice? Sure,” Archie said, and got him a cup full of ice from the freezer. “Do you want to hang out down here for a bit?”

Jughead nodded and took a seat as Archie and his dad chatted. He was uncharacteristically quiet, hunched protectively around his stomach with his arms crossed on the tabletop, picking occasionally at his cup of ice, letting the ice cubes melt in his mouth and swallowing carefully. But he still smirked in all the right places as Archie told a story about Reggie falling over his own feet at football practice, so Archie figured he was doing okay.

When Archie’s dad announced dinner, Jughead excused himself. “That’s my cue,” he said, “I can sleep in the garage tonight. I don’t want to get you sick.”

“No way,” Archie insisted, “It’s freezing out there, and there’s no bathroom. If I get sick it’s because half the football team has the same bug anyway, so don’t worry about it.” 

Jughead nodded, seeming to take that at face value, and headed up the stairs. Quiet, compliant Jughead was an experience Archie wasn’t used to. It was a little disconcerting. It was also disconcerting that that Jughead and his dad seemed to agree that they should be kept apart, as if Archie was the only person in the room who knew this little trio was a family now. 

By the time Archie made it upstairs for bed, Jughead was fast asleep again, bundled up on the air mattress in his sweatshirt and two extra blankets, open-mouthed and snoring softly. There was an old mop bucket beside him on the floor that didn’t usually belong there, but made sense in the circumstances.

Unexpectedly tired, especially since they hadn’t even finished football practice, Archie dropped into his bed and went straight to sleep.

…

Archie woke hours later in the dark, unable at first to identify what had dragged him out of sleep, but knowing that something was wrong. Someone was breathing loudly nearby, and much too fast. 

“Jug?”

He could hear Jughead swallow, and then the sound of breathing returned, more controlled, if a little shaky.

“You okay?”

Jughead sniffed. “Yeah, I’m good. Go back to sleep.”

“What’s wrong?”

In the dim moonlight from his window, Archie could see his friend sitting on his mattress, shaking his head.

“Nothing,” he said, “Just a weird dream.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Jughead was quiet a long moment, and then laid back down and burrowed into the covers, air mattress shifting against the floor. 

“I, uh, dreamed I found Jellybean. By the river, like Jason. But then I woke up and she’s not here. Obviously. She’s in Toledo. I just – still feel like I have to check on her?” Jughead sniffed again. “I don’t know what time it is, but I’m pretty sure it’s too late to call. I’m being dumb.”

“Nah, man. I get the worst dreams when I’m sick, like all the time. You’re the smartest guy I know. It’s not dumb to worry about your sister.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“But she’s okay, Juggy. It was just a dream.”

Jughead was quiet.

“Do you miss them, your mom and Jellybean?”

Jughead nodded. “I guess. But I’m also glad they’re not here for this. Everything's been pretty messed up lately.”

“Yeah.”

“Hey, Archie?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for letting me crash with you. Even when I’m sick and disgusting.”

Archie chuckled. “I don’t care if you’re gross, Jug. You’re my brother.”

“Yeah.”

“Good night, Juggy.”

“Night, Arch.”

…

When Archie woke up again, his alarm was sounding, and it was light out again, but, oddly, he still had the feeling that something was wrong. He sat up in bed, trying to place the feeling, when his stomach did a sudden somersault.

“Oh no,” he said out loud, and clamped a hand to his mouth.


	4. Betty

Jughead woke up feeling hungry, which was remarkably better than he’d felt the day before. He even started to say as much – only to be promptly interrupted by a certain Archie Andrews, who, perhaps predictably, now wasn’t feeling so good.

Fortunately, there was a conveniently placed mop bucket at hand in case of emergencies.

When Archie was finished, Jughead helped him clean up and get settled back in bed with a rapidly cooling mug of peppermint tea and no fewer than three extra blankets. “I’m sorry for getting you sick,” he said, but Archie was having none of it.

Fred arrived on the scene soon after. He surveyed the damage, sat down for a minute to rub his son’s back with familiar affection, and all the while politely refrained from saying, “I told you so” – although it may have been implied. Fred called both boys out of school before heading out to work, and then left them with a promise to check in at lunch and instructions to phone him if they needed anything.

When his dad was gone, Archie closed his eyes determinedly and declared that he was going back to sleep until his stomach bug was over. Jughead understood the impulse. He’d done the exact same thing yesterday, but now he was home for the day, awake, and left to his own devices.

The first order of business, naturally, was breakfast, although Jughead took it easy for once, opting for some apple juice and a piece of toast. He was still a little shaky when he was moving around and his abs felt sore from the workout they’d gotten the day before, but his breakfast stayed down without a fight and he felt a little more human after eating something, so he was calling that a win.

The second item on his list was to call his grandmother in Toledo. Even though he knew his mom and his sister were okay, Jughead still wanted to check in. This of course, required finding his phone, which Jughead eventually located still in his jacket pocket in the closet from the day before. And, according to the phone, he had 29 unread text messages and two missed calls.

**Veronica:** _The driver says you got home okay. I’ll keep your secret, but I still think you should let Betty know what happened._

**Veronica:** _Well, that’s my good deed for the week.  
_

**Veronica:** _Feel better soon Jones._

**Betty:** _Do my eyes deceive me or is Jughead Jones actually skipping lunch?_

**Betty:** _There are hamburgers in the cafeteria today and everything._

**Betty:** _I hope this means you found a lead._

 **Archie:** _It’s lunch_

**Betty:** _Okay, I’ll see you after school I guess._

**Betty:** _Are you coming?_

**Betty:** _We’re supposed to be going through the Blossom family history today._

**Betty:** _I mean, I can do this alone, but I don’t really want to._

**Betty:** _Jughead?_

**Betty:** _Where are you?_

**Archie:** _Hey man where are you_

 **Betty:** _Are you okay?_

 **Archie:** _Betty’s looking for you_

**Betty:** _I haven’t seen you since this morning._

**Betty:** _Archie doesn’t know where you are either._

 **Betty:** _Juggy?_

 **Betty:** _What’s going on?_

**Betty:** _???_

**Betty:** _Hey  
_

**Betty:** _Archie says you went home sick today._

**Betty:** _I’m sorry for sending so many texts. I didn’t mean to bombard you. I just couldn’t find you and I was getting worried._

 **Betty:** _You know you can let me know when something’s going on with you, right?_

**Betty:** _I care about you. If there’s something wrong, I want to help._

**Betty:** _You’re always taking care of everyone, Jug. It’s okay for you to be taken care of sometimes, too._

**Betty:** _Okay. Imagine me giving you a big hug right now. I hope you feel better soon.  
_

**Betty:** _Look out your window when you get this._

Well, damn.

When Jughead had come down sick, he'd felt like he had no home to go home sick to and no one he could turn to for help. He'd thought he'd just have to push through and deal with this all on his own, but apparently that choice had backfired spectacularly. Veronica, Fred, and Archie had all chastised him for that choice as well. He typed back immediately.

 **Jughead:** _Hey, sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. I just got back to Archie’s yesterday and went straight to sleep._

**Betty:** _Hey!_

**Betty:** _It’s okay, I’m glad you’re alright._

**Betty:** _Are you feeling any better?_

**Jughead:** _A lot. And I’ve got a whole day at home, so I can get some research done._

**Jughead:** _But Archie’s sick now too._

**Betty:** _Aw! Well, then the card’s for both of you._

**Betty:** _But it was for you first. ;)  
_

**Betty:** _I hope you like it._

The card? Confused, Jughead scrolled back through the deluge of messages. Catching the last message from Betty, Jughead, as prompted, looked out the nearest window, and saw only the Andrews’ fence. Well, he supposed if there was a window that was “his” in this house, it was the one in Archie’s bedroom.

Upstairs, sunlight was streaming in, and Archie was fast asleep with an arm over his eyes, ensconced in a nest of blankets and pillows. Jughead replaced the cold mug of tea on Archie’s nightstand with a glass of water from the kitchen, and peeked out to the house next door. Objectively, Jughead knew that Archie’s window was right across from Betty’s bedroom, but he’d hadn’t really thought before about how he was spending his nights only a few yards from her.

And now, set upright in Betty’s bedroom window, opposite, there was a giant, hand-made “get well soon” sign, coloured in on white posterboard with markers and pens and covered in pink paper hearts. Balloons, ribbons, and trailing strings of paper hearts floated gently in the autumn breeze beneath, trapped outside, under the lip of the window. It was ridiculous, and ridiculously kind.

Only Betty would think of something like this.

_Jughead: It’s amazing. Thank you._

_Betty: <3_


End file.
